


All the Truth I Know

by Gryphoness



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (basically they get married to end a war ie Henry Tudor & Elizabeth of York), Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:08:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphoness/pseuds/Gryphoness
Summary: Winter came, and winter went. And now, as the snow melts and the land recovers, a deal is struck -- Six united kingdoms, under the King in the South, and a northern kingdom, under the King in the North. And an alliance of friendship, sealed with a marriage.





	1. Prologue: An Offer

“There’s been a letter for you, Your Grace,” his manservant reported, “From Brandon Stark, the…the man who calls himself the King in the North.”

Tommen took the letter and dismissed the man before he sat to look at the letter.

Tommen was only a boy when winter began, a plump, foolish child with a too-big crown and a twice-widowed maid for a wife. By the time spring came, he was a man grown; and a widower before he was ever old enough to take his bride to bed. The long years of cold had put a halt to the political intrigue of the seven kingdoms. People had more important things on their minds, like staying alive.

And yet the north remained. They had declared independence from the realm years ago, after Lord Eddard’s death. His mother had been certain that with Robb Stark dead, the northerners would acquiesce to the Iron Throne once winter had finally passed. And yet, it seemed she was wrong in that. The Starks had a king still, and apparently one who planned to continue on being king, if he had sent a raven south under that name.

Brandon Stark, King in the North. Tommen remembered Brandon Stark. He had gone by Bran, when they were small, and Tommen wondered if he did still. He had been a bright cheerful boy, always laughing. He was meant to come south with his father and sisters, to be a companion to the princes. If not for that terrible fall…

Bran had not been expected to survive, and was indeed said to be killed later, by Lord Stark’s traitorous ward. But it seemed, now, that he lived. And was crowned king in his brother’s place.

They were of an age, these two kings, Both young men, now, and older than their elder brothers would ever be. Both of them had lived through the winter and were now expected to rule.

The gray wolfshead seal cracked in half when Tommen opened the letter.

* * *

 

“Absolutely not,” his mother snapped, emerald eyes blazing at the suggestion, “You cannot agree to such a thing. It’s preposterous. It’s madness!”

Tommen glanced at the goblet held in his mother’s hand, and made a mental note to ask her ladies how much she had drank today. “I’ve already dispatched a raven agreeing to his terms, Mother. It should reach Winterfell within a few days, and things will be arranged.”

 “Allowing the northerners to govern themselves! It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” She scoffed and tossed the letter down onto the table.

“Neither Brandon or I wants any more war. Giving the north leave to become their own kingdom is the simplest way to avoid any continued fighting. It’s the most diplomatic solution available.”

“It will make you look weak, giving in to those wild savages.”

Tommen sighed. “It will make me look as though I’m protecting my kingdom and my people from unnecessary bloodshed.”

 “And what,” Cersei demanded after a moment’s silence, “do you have to say about the other half of his proposal?”

He bit his lip to keep back an exasperated retort, and strove to maintain a calm, steady tone. “It seems fair enough to me. To show the common folk that the war is ended and to prove our alliance and friendship with the newly-independent kingdom of the north, I’ll marry King Brandon’s sister, the Princess Arya.”

His mother groaned. “So the dirty little girl with knotty hair who’s damned pet wolf attacked your brother will now be the queen of six kingdoms.”

“She was nine then, Mother. And as she’s now my future wife, you shouldn’t speak ill of her. Please.”

“I think you’re making a mistake, my son.”

“Be that as it may, the decision has been made. I accepted Brandon’s offer, and I’ll keep my word. Seven save us all.”


	2. An Understanding

They arranged the wedding to be a mix of northern and southron customs. It took place in the godswood of the Red Keep, with the High Septon there to officiate. Arya Stark was petite, but with a surprising strength to her grip when Tommen took her hand. She had a long face, and dark hair, with wide gray eyes. All those years ago, when they visited Winterfell, his mother had called her plain, but Tommen thought she had an interesting look. An unconventional, almost wild sort of prettiness.

When he draped the gold and black wedding cloak around her shoulders, she looked up into his eyes, almost curiously, and despite his nerves, Tommen felt almost content. Both of them were doing this to help their families and the people they protected, not because of love. That, at least, they had in common.

Arya did not speak to him at their wedding feast, and Tommen’s tongue felt all knotted up when he tried to start a conversation. There was no bedding ceremony. King Brandon had insisted his sister be spared that indignity, and Tommen agreed right away.

* * *

 

He shut the door behind them, doing his best to block out the chatter and laughter from the guests still gathered downstairs. This situation was going to be uncomfortable enough without the reminder. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face his hours-wife. And yelped in surprise as he found the tip of a sword pointed at his chest.

Arya had produced a small, thin sword from gods-knew-where, and had it poised to skewer him if he so much as moved wrong. Her gray eyes were fierce and determined, and Tommen understood quite clearly why people called the Starks wolves.

“If you try anything at all,” she hissed, “I’ll gut you like a fish.”

Tommen quickly held his hands up, the universal gesture for _I surrender._ “You don’t have to worry about that. I wasn’t planning on trying.”

That seemed to throw her for a loop. Her head tilted and her sword lowered. Then her eyes narrowed, as if she was suspicious. “What do you mean by that?”

He felt a rush of heat surge up his neck and knew that his face must be red. How humiliating. “I…I don’t…I don’t feel anything like…that. Lust, or whatever you call it.”

Arya chewed her lip for a moment, and then asked calmly, “You prefer men?”

“No!” He thought of Loras Tyrell, and how his child-self had so adored him. And yet, that was different. “I don’t…I’ve never felt that way about anybody.”

He could light a torch with how hot his face felt in this moment. He wished, frantically, that some sort of hole would open in the floor and swallow him up.

Much to his surprise, his new wife only nodded. Turning away from him, she sat her sword upon the dressing table. “We have an understanding, then,” she remarked as she began to take her brown hair out of the elaborate southron style it had been in for the wedding.

She had ladies, of course, as the new queen, but they did not attend her tonight. And she would not be able to fix her hair all on her own. Out of habit, Tommen strolled over to stand behind Arya and picked up a brush off the table.

“What are you doing?” Arya asked, puzzled.

“Helping. I used to share a chamber with my sister, and I helped her with her hair all the time.” Easily, he undid the fastenings to release her hair, which tumbled down around her shoulders. Then he calmly began to brush her hair, a slow soothing rhythm that he had perfected with Myrcella.

“You don’t need to do this,” she protested.

“You’re my wife. I ought to help you, even if we aren’t consummating the marriage. Oh yes, that reminds me—“

Setting the brush down, he crossed the room to pick up his dagger. Setting down upon the bed, he made a shallow cut in the crook of his elbow.

“Seven hells!” Arya cried, racing over to him, “What’s the matter with you?”

“Shhh! Just watch.”

Carefully, he allowed the blood from his wounded arm to drip onto the sheets. Then he used his fingers to smear it a bit, as though it had been moved over and rubbed in.

Feeling Arya’s eyes on him, he explained, “If the servants don’t see blood on a sheet the morning after a wedding, especially a royal wedding, they’ll gossip. There will be whispers, either that we did not do our duty, or that you came to your wedding bed without your maidenhead. Both of which rumors could cause political damage for both our families.”

“You’re clever.” With a small strip of cloth cut from the sheet, she wrapped his cut arm to stop the bleeding.

“My sister is the clever one, not me.”

Arya gave him a smile, and he felt himself smile in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are with the first real chapter, lovelies! Friendly reminder that none of these characters belongs to me. Also, demisexual Tommen is a headcanon you can rip from my cold, dead hands. (Hint hint: comments are writing fuel~)


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